


follow you down

by words_unravel



Series: hurt/comfort bingo prompt fills (2010 card) [1]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fallen Angels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-29
Updated: 2010-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:17:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1401142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_unravel/pseuds/words_unravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[<i>prompt:</i> <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/"></a><b>hc_bingo</b> – fallen angels]</p>
            </blockquote>





	follow you down

**Author's Note:**

> [bingo master list (LJ)](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/15631.html)

* * *

Ryan hits hard and sinks quickly.

He flails about, but his limbs feel heavy now, awkward. It's hard to get them to move. He opens his mouth to yell for help, but the second he does, water rushes in. He's choking, movements even more frantic now and he's so very, very confused. Blackness is creeping around the edge of his vision when there's a sharp tug at the back of his neck. He sucks in a huge gulp of air as he breaks the water's surface, big choking gasps that nearly cover the disgruntled, "What the fuck?"

There's another pull on the back of his neck and he twists around, scrambling at the wall, clambering to get out of the water. He's trying to catch a breath, coughing up more water instead when he feels a light touch along the top of a wing. The jerk is instinctive, however the pain is not and Ryan gasps for an entirely different reason.

" _Don't–_ "

"What the fuck, dude?"

Ryan finally glances up. It's dark, the only light coming from–Ryan glances behind him–the pool. It reflects off the face of the person beside him. Pale skin, light-colored eyes. Blue, Ryan wants to guess, with no idea why. The stranger frowns at him. "Okay, seriously." Ryan watches his gaze shift over his shoulder and then back to Ryan's face. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

Before he can answer, the wind picks up and Ryan shivers at the sudden coolness along his wet skin. He's never been cold before, not really. Another shiver wracks him, sending a wave of pain along his wing and he grits his teeth against the sharp sensation. His rescuer rolls his eyes then stands up. Reaching down, he pulls Ryan to his feet. Despite the rough tone and his obvious impatience, his hands are gentle on Ryan's arms and careful of the injured wing.

A second after the glass door shuts behind them, Ryan feels something cold and wet touch his hand. Looking down, he can't help the smile that spreads across his face. He runs a hand over the dog's head, scratching behind one ear. His rescuer snorts out, "That's Boba," before the hand on Ryan's elbow urges him forward. Boba whines when Ryan's hand falls away and he follows right on their heels as they head further into the room.

They stop in the kitchen, but before Ryan can say anything, the guy takes off down a hallway, leaving him standing alone. There's a pleasant smell in the air and Ryan moves toward the stove. There are leftovers in a pan, the lid halfway off. It's kind of a mess, really. He looks around. The trash is nearly overflowing and there's a stack of dishes in the sink. They've been rinsed off, but the pile is starting to tilt precariously.

Ryan wanders around, listening to the muffled noises down the hallway. There are a number of papers and envelopes scattered across the table and he glances at one of them, tracing a finger over the name. Spencer J. Smith.

 _Spencer_. His would-be rescuer has a name.

"Hey."

Ryan starts at the voice, pulling his hand away and turning away from the table. The movement knocks his wing against one of the chairs and a searing slice of agony makes his knees buckle. Before he can get his breath back, Spencer's there, an arm around his waist, pulling him away from the table. "Hey," he repeats. "You gotta be careful."

Ryan was right, Spencer's eyes are blue, crystal-clear and sharp. They remind him of Serenity Lake on the commons, remind him of home. He sucks in a sharp breath.

"What? What is it?"

Ryan just shakes his head at the question, ignoring the curiosity in Spencer's eyes. He offers up a tentative smile that, after a moment, seems to make Spencer relax. He moves behind Ryan and begins to wrap his wing tightly. He works in silence until finally there's a quiet, "All done."

He turns with a soft, "Thank you." Ryan watches Spencer's gaze shift over his shoulder, trace the line of his wing with his eyes. Spencer's way too calm and Ryan can't help blurting out, "You're taking this well?"

Spencer snorts, rolling his eyes. "I had a bottle of wine with dinner." The tone is dry and he looks toward the counter next to the fridge. There's an empty bottle sitting there, stained cork next to it. He looks back at Ryan. "I'm fairly sure I'm dreaming this entire thing."

Before he can stop himself, Ryan retorts, "You have these kind of dreams a lot then?"

"Well, kind of. They generally tend to involve Bre–other people. And less talking." Spencer reaches out, tracing a finger over the top of Ryan's uninjured wing. He tries not to shiver. "The wings are new though." Spencer adds quietly, "I like them."

He looks back at Ryan and it's hard for Ryan to breath, his chest tight. They stare at each other for a few minutes until Spencer finally steps away, coughing. "Anyway."

Ryan blinks, the moment broken. He's in his head, trying to figure out what it is about Spencer–why he seems to make Ryan's skin buzz a little, his brain get fuzzy–when he catches the tail end of Spencer's question.

"–taking a midnight dip in my pool?"

And that's when Ryan remembers Jon.

*

Brendon is awesome, Jon thinks.

The two of them are sitting on Brendon's couch, Jon's wrapped ankle propped up on the coffee table. Yeah, Brendon is awesome, but Jon's not entirely sure about the contents of the bowl that's currently being extended toward him. Brendon's big, brown eyes are honest though, so Jon takes it. Brendon's smile widens and Jon's pretty sure he's wearing a dopey grin of his own.

"So." Brendon drags the word out a little and Jon stares at his mouth. When Brendon coughs, Jon looks up. There's a faint tinge of red across Brendon's cheeks and Jon tilts his head, waiting.

"So," Brendon repeats. "You don't remember anything?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> [ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/prettykitty_fic/pic/00008rer/)


End file.
